


The Slow Collide

by fadewithfury (foxmoon)



Category: Broadchurch, Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-20 14:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6011134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxmoon/pseuds/fadewithfury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannah is an average English lit student with a shitty boyfriend. Hardy is a criminal justice lecturer trying to move beyond a rough patch in his life. They are brought together by a series of chance encounters until at last they forge a connection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for manipulative/problematic relationship (between Hannah and Harry).
> 
> Thank you to Lostinfic for her encouragement, her advice, and her A+ beta skills. Thank you as well to lauraxxtennant for your invaluable advice on British things and the uni setting. Thanks to the several others who also helped with their input. 
> 
> This was borne out of merging two prompts from lostinfic (school) and chiaroscuroverse (bookstore)
> 
> This is my last fanfic, so I hope you enjoy. <3

Alec Hardy despised many things, but the university’s law library was not one of them. The books were fine, but he liked it more for its shelter of silence. He could hide away on the upper floors, or disappear amongst bowed heads and the intermittent sifting of pages. Today, however, he was there to find articles on eliciting confessions for a future assignment. Boring work for a boring class—and he was the lecturer. He’d rather have been eliciting the confessions himself. Would’ve been by now, if not for his own rubbish heart.

A computer sat unoccupied in the back of the library near the section on comparative politics. Perfectly private and away from students that may bother him with inane questions about assignments. Assignments that he’d painstakingly listed in the course outline, if they would just read the bloody thing.

As he perused the library’s database of scientific journals for his query, he overheard what sounded like… well, like kissing, and the rustle of clothes. He tried to ignore it; it wasn’t his business. He just had to find two specific volumes and he would get the hell out of there.

But then came the moaning. The pleasured growls. A soft gasp, then another. Murmurs to keep quiet, and defiant giggles. He sighed noisily, hoping they’d hear and put a lid on it.

No such luck.

As a lecturer, a former constable, and a person of moral integrity, he should put a stop to illicit behaviour. The urge was branded on in his bones. But what did it matter, really? It didn’t sound like anyone was being harmed. And they were just having a snog. He hoped. Except that it was the last bloody thing he wanted to hear right now. Images of Tess sprung into his head unbidden, sneaking around for a shag with his best mate mere weeks before the wedding. It triggered anger more than anything else by now at least.

With a clenched jaw, he stalked over to the back stacks where the noises had originated. He made as though he intended to seek out a book in that area, and barged right in on the scene. A young woman, likely in her first or second year at uni, was pressed against the wall with her hands held overhead by a young man who at present had his mouth on her throat.

Hardy, of course, went entirely unnoticed.

The woman’s eyes were closed in bliss, though something in her expression seemed off. She wasn’t into it, or she wasn’t into him. Or perhaps (he’d like to think) she was distracted by the fact that she really should be studying or in a class at the present time. The boyfriend secured both of her wrists in one of his hands, and used the other to rake his fingers through her blonde hair. Her lashes fluttered. Hardy coughed.

Her eyes popped open and locked onto Hardy’s. “Shit!” She tried to push her boyfriend away. “Stop!”

The lad looked up, slow from his lusty stupor. Hardy recognized him instantly as one of his students—Harry Keegan.

“Mr. Keegan, this is—”

Harry ignored him. “Aw, love, I have a lecture.” He gave the lass a peck on her cheek, and dashed off.

“What the fuck?” She glared at his retreating back.

Hardy just shook his head and scowled. He’d deal with Keegan later.

The young woman blew a lock of hair from her face, and straightened her shirt. “What, did you wanna cut in?”

“Excuse me?”

She smiled, and let her eyes roam over him. They lingered on his left hand, and then slid over to focus just below his belt buckle. Hardy fought an urge to loosen his tie, and just frowned deeper.

“Get back to your studies,” he growled, trying to keep quiet.

Something flashed in her eyes. She toyed with the collar of her shirt. “I’m not here to study.”

“Er…clearly.” He blinked, focusing back on his irritation. “You even a student here? What’s your name?”

She hesitated. “Belle.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Library card, please. You need proper identification to be in here.”

She rolled her eyes, and looked at the clock on the wall nearby. “I was just leaving.”

And off she went with a hint of fury in her stride. He inhaled the faint, ambiguous floral scent that lingered in her absence. It took a minute for his feet to begin working again, and at last he managed to shuffle his way back to the terminal only to find it occupied.

“Fuck,” he huffed.

“Hey, Mr. Hardy?”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked over at the student that he swore wasn’t there a moment ago.

“Yes?”

“I’m not gonna make it to the lecture today. Will I miss anything important?”

“All of it,” Hardy said, and went off in search of another computer.

 

///

 

Hannah stormed out of the library doors, mobile already in hand to phone Harry. Of course he didn’t answer. She cursed under her breath as she sent him a text.

_ wanker _

She didn’t bother to check for a reply, and pressed on to her next class. It wouldn’t start for another half hour. Precious time she could’ve spent shagging against the wall with that lovely smell of old books all around. What the fuck had Harry so alarmed? It wouldn’t be the first time they encountered faculty or staff during their campus frolicking. Left her to deal with the bloody shag police on top of it.  _ Arrogant fucking prick. _

At least that lecturer was fit under the ill-kept scruff and lopsided tie. If he’d wanted to take over, she probably would’ve let him. Though he looked a bit worn down with those stooped shoulders and dark circles under his eyes. An alcoholic, or suffering a broken heart she’d bet. The tone he’d taken with her at first—that growl, it had sent a flash of heat through her. But he had to ruin it with that rubbish about seeing her identification card. Probably would be a lousy shag anyway.

After her Irish literature class, throughout which Harry  _ still _ hadn’t responded, Hannah went straight to Harry’s building. She hopped up on the warm bricks of the barrier wall to wait for him.

Sure enough, he slinked out after his lecture and wedged his hips between her thighs like he’d done nothing wrong. He bent forward to nip at her neck. She shrugged him off.

Harry gave her a sideways grin. “Oh, you like it.”

“What? The part where you ran away?”

“I told you: I had a lecture,” he said, winding his arms around her shoulders.

“Hasn’t stopped you before.”

“I’m sorry, Han.” Harry brushed his knuckles softly against her cheek. She fought the urge to lean into it, still cross and maybe a little uneasy.

“Fine. I’ve told you about  _ Mr.  _ Hardy, yeah?”

Hannah looked up in recognition, but kept her jaw taut. Harry had complained a couple times before about him, about his rigid expectations, and how he wanted to be called ‘Mr. Hardy’ instead of by his first name like the other instructors. 

“He lectures two of my modules, and he’s bloody awful. D’you know he spent half the lecture going on about on-campus public indecency cases? It wasn’t a coincidence. I need good marks this term or I’ll graduate third.”

Hannah scoffed at him. “You’re the one who said the risks are worth it.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry looked up in thought. “Maybe you could, I dunno, get him off my back.”

“How d’you mean?”

He kissed her, but she kept still, unnerved by his suggestion.

Harry sighed impatiently. “Go down on him in his office or something, whatever. Maybe he’d—“

“God. Get away from me.” Hannah shoved at him, but he didn’t budge. “What d’you think I am?”

“What? I thought you were into that sort of thing. Fucking your teachers.”

She gasped at that, and her heart sped up in her chest. _On my own terms._ She wanted to spit. It had only been that one time, long before they started dating. She mustered a sharp glare, but couldn’t find the will to fight him.

“Oh, Hannah, love, I’m just taking the piss. You know that, right?” He grinned, and swept a strand of hair from her face. “We could go right here,” he said, low and suggestive. “This wall’s the right height, and there’s a nice drop on the other side. You like a bit of danger.”

They were between lectures, therefore many students still roamed around them. Hannah curled her fingers into the leather of his jacket, torn between her body’s innate response to his suggestion and the knot of uncertainty in her stomach.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he whispered, drawing her attention with a soft touch under her chin.

She looked up at him firmly, but had nothing to say. He leant in and brushed tender kisses along her jaw, and down to her neck. Her body should be tingling, her skin should be warm under his teeth, but instead she just felt mildly repulsed.

She wrapped her arms around him anyway, and curved her body towards his. He was so good at this, the physical stuff she craved. But she hated how he made her second guess her instincts.

As Harry slid his hand under her shirt, her gaze drifted over his shoulder toward the stairs. Hardy stood there, adjusting a heavy bag over his shoulder. Their eyes met. She had no idea how long he’d been there, or how much he’d seen. His expression was indiscernible across the distance, but it took a long moment before he went on his way.

 

///

 

Marking papers would never be something Hardy enjoyed. Half of his students couldn’t be arsed to read the material, and the other gave it their best with tepid success. Then there were the ones that completely made shit up. They hated him. Hated his lectures. Hated that he gave them low marks for the slightest infraction. It didn’t matter. At least he wouldn’t be responsible for unleashing more bumbling idiots into the justice system.

He sighed and rubbed his brow as the espresso machine roared nearby. The campus café wasn’t exactly an ideal place to do this, but it kept him awake. Kept him from the distraction of his flat, and memories of when Tess used to live there. Memories of when his life was better. 

He had been a good constable, on his way to detective sergeant, when his heart gave out on a chase. An apparent congenital defect, but otherwise humiliating, given that he was only twenty-nine at the time. The chief super had been gracious in helping him get this lecturing position; suggested that he could pursue his doctorate and make a difference in other ways. It sounded better than nothing at the time.

But he’d succumbed to the guilt and self-hatred that consumed him anyway. Dashed hopes and all that bollocks. Didn’t know how to be anything else, so he just walked around like some hollow thing, a wound on the world where a man used to be. His sour moods had likely driven Tess away (she’d even made off with their cat, Daisy), but at one time he’d been a good fiancé.    


A flash of blonde pulled him out of his rumination. Belle, if that was even her real name, had come to stand in the queue close by to receive her coffee order. Their paths kept crossing, it would seem. At least that prat Harry Keegan wasn’t anywhere around. He adjusted his glasses and tried to focus on his work. 

“Hannah!” called the barista.

‘Belle’ reached for the drink with a smile, and sought out a table against the wall ahead of him. Although they now essentially faced one another, she hadn’t seemed to notice his presence.

Hardy shook his head, and flipped over a paper to begin marking the next. But halfway through the paper, he realised he hadn’t retained a single word. Instead, he knew that Hannah had a stack of books beside her, including Wordsworth and Coleridge, and her nails were painted teal.

A gold Macbook was opened before her, its screen reflected in her black framed glasses. Her hand presently curled around a cup, a cup that bore a lip gloss stain on the plastic lid.

There were no overt signs of abuse, no bruises he could see, but he knew Keegan to be a smooth talker. On more than one occasion he’d attempted to charm his way out of missing an assignment, or flirted instead of contributing on group projects. More alarming, he’d been accused of sexual harassment in the past, a charge that was mysteriously dropped.

Bel— _ Hannah _ had seemed upset at him on the wall outside of the building, but Keegan had seduced her into his arms regardless. Hardy had read statistics earlier that year about sexual assault on campus, and how it often went unreported. Dave would say he was reading too much into it. Tess would say he’d make a good detective. They were probably shagging right now.

Hannah shifted in her seat. Hardy looked back to his work.

 

///

 

Hannah let her gaze drift over the top of her Macbook to the lecturer at the corner table. It was funny how she’d been in uni for a year and a half without seeing him around once, and now he was everywhere. _ Mr. Hardy _ , the pretentious sod. Or maybe he wasn’t pretentious; maybe he just didn’t want anyone to get too close. What made a man with the faint beginnings of smile lines around his eyes become so bristled? She’d like to know his story. 

The other day, Harry had made her teacher kink confession seem like something lewd. Like she was this young thing chasing after old grey-haired professors with tweed jackets and grown children. This one couldn’t’ve been older than thirty-five, and presumably unmarried to boot. But she wouldn’t chase him. She would be good this time.

Too bad. He had a cozy sort of look going today: A navy jumper with specs. Miles better than the crumpled shirtsleeves and poorly knotted tie he wore last time. Made her want to go over there and just curl up under his arm and tell him she could make it better if he wanted. She wasn’t one of  _ his  _ students. It wouldn’t be so bad to just fantasize— _ stop. _

She had so much to do before tonight, and Harry’d be here soon. Now wasn’t the time to let her mind wander. With a deep breath, she set back to work. But not five minutes later, her mobile buzzed. Harry. She answered with a curt greeting.

“ _ Sorry, Han, can’t make it.” _

“Well, that’s okay. Just meet me there later then.” She looked up to stifle the inevitable tears. She should’ve known this was coming.

“ _ No, I mean, I can’t make it at all.” _

“What? I bought tickets and everything!”

_ “Go with Bambi or something. Sorry, you know I’ve got to sit for an exam.” _

Hannah sighed. “Whatever.”

_ “Don’t be cross. I’ll make it up to you.” _

“You’ve got quite a list going.”

_ “Have I? Well, I’ll think of something big. It’ll be a nice surprise. Bye, Han.” _

Hannah tossed her mobile to her purse, fighting tears in her eyes. He knew Bambi was off with Byron on one of their spontaneous road trips. She wanted to phone Ben and see if he’d go with her to the concert, but Harry had such a jealous streak when it came to him. Wouldn’t surprise her one bit if it turned out Harry was the one sleeping around.

A shadow crossed her table, and she looked up, wiping her eyes. Mr. Hardy stood there with a furrowed brow.

“What?” she asked.

“Are you—ehm… all right?”

“Fine.”

“Good.” He hesitated to leave, a deep dimple formed in his cheek.

Hannah jerked her purse over and searched its depths for her campus identification card. She then shoved it in his direction.

“I’m a student, happy?” She avoided looking into his eyes when he didn’t take the card.

“Your name isn’t Belle.”

A jolt of fear twisted in her chest. “Wh—what?”

“Does he think your name’s Belle?”

Hannah slid her ID card back into her purse. “Um, who? Harry?”

He nodded once.

“No. Uh, look, I’m trying to study. What’s this about? You gonna keep harassing me over what happened?”

“No. I just, ehm… Sorry. I’ll leave.”

And he did.

So weird, that one. At least he smelt nice, and he had good teeth. But his eyes held on to a great deal of pain. Like he used to have a good life. Used to take good care of himself, but something had happened to make it all slip. It piqued her curiosity almost as much as the whole interaction set her on edge.

 

///

 

_ Four days later… _

After his final lecture of the day, Hardy headed out for an evening walk along the downtown shops that bisected the university campus. He hadn’t taken this route before, but thought a change of scenery might do well for his mood. The roads glistened from a passing rainstorm, reflecting streetlamps and shop signs. The smell of humid tarmac combined with grease from the corner chippy did a number on his stomach, so he ducked into an independent bookshop to escape.

He spent a few minutes aimlessly perusing the shelves, wishing he had the patience to read. It used to be his sanctuary, the written word. If his parents fought, he’d lose himself in a murder mystery. If he found himself alone on a Saturday evening, he’d turn to the musings of a private detective. It’s partly what inspired him to join the force. Perhaps he needed a different genre.

Eventually he found himself in the poetry section, fingers skipping along the spines of works by Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Blake. 

“Hi. Anything I can—oh.”

Hardy stiffened at the shopkeeper’s sudden approach. He turned, ready to tell her to bugger off, but froze at the sight of her. Hannah. With her hair loose around her shoulders, and her eyelids heavy from fatigue.

“You work here,” he said.

She glanced at the book his hand had come to rest upon, and back to him. “Are you following me?”

“No, I, uh…had no idea. Was just out for a walk.”

“It’s funny; we keep running into each other.”

He scratched under his collar. “Completely a coincidence.”

“All right then.” She smiled a little, and stirred a funny feeling in his chest. “Fancy romantic poetry do you?”

He frowned and gave the books in question a withering look. “Ehm, I don’t know.”

“I’ve got to write a paper on them. I might like it more if I didn’t have to.” Her eyes wandered up along the books on the shelves surrounding them. “I mean, I guess I’m not overly fond of poetry in general. I dunno. I think I prefer Austen from this era, though it’s daft to categorise her as a romantic author along with the rest of these blokes.”

Hardy found himself relaxing as she spoke. Leaning in, even.  _ Interested. _ He didn’t give a toss about Austen or romantic literature, though. Perhaps he needed human interaction more than he thought.

She forced an awkward smile. “Well, I’ll leave you alone.” Then she walked off, straightening books on the shelves as she went.

“What else do you like?” The words were out of his mouth before he knew it. He averted his eyes as she stopped in her tracks. “Because, erm, I mean, what would you recommend here?”

She bit her lip as she reorganized a few books on the display table. “What do you like to read? You know, usually?”

“Crime fiction, but it’s—”

“Ah, I should’ve guessed.”

“—yeah.” He tilted his head. “Why’s that?”

“I dunno. You’re a criminology lecturer, aren’t you? Jurisprudence?”

He shrugged. “You work in a bookshop. Is that why you’re an English lit student?”

“Uh—”

He rubbed his ear, certain that she could see the full body cringe every time he opened his mouth. “Never mind. I’ll just look around.”

“I like a lot of different things. Classic literature, modern best sellers, erotica.”

He chuckled at the last one, but sobered as it triggered a flashback of Harry holding her against the wall in the library. The perspective shifted in his mind without warning, and he was the one with his hand splaying on her hip, her blonde hair stark against the dark leather spines of the books beside him. He flinched and took a step back, clearing the vision from his head.

“Thanks, but I wasn’t really in here to buy anything.”

Hannah made a face. “Oh, right.”

To his disappointment, she hurried off around the aisle and out of sight. 

 

///

 

Hannah slammed into a book display seconds after rounding the corner. Pain exploded in her shin, and her ensuing curses would’ve made the most vulgar of sailors blush. Thank god nobody else was in the shop.  _ Thank god he didn’t see her. _ After wincing through the throbbing ache in her shin, she stooped down to begin picking up the books, cheeks warm with embarrassment.

“Are you, erm, all right?” Asked a gruff Scottish voice behind her.

She peered over her shoulder. “Fuck… You didn’t see it did you?”

“No. I heard it. You’ve got a colourful vocabulary.”

She laughed. “I’ll have a colourful leg tomorrow.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, then he knelt down to help her pick up the multiple copies of Kate Atkinson’s  _ A God in Ruins _ .

“Thanks,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. She chose the books she gathered carefully lest she accidentally touch his hand and ignite some kind of burning passion within herself. It happens. Especially in her needier hours.

Once they had straightened out the ‘featured best seller’ rack, she looked up to find he’d already stood, and had his hand out to help her to her feet.  _ Oh no.  _ Why hadn’t she anticipated that? Now it was inevitable. She could hear Ben telling her she’s being overdramatic.

She took his hand, and rose. The contact was far more fleeting than she imagined it would be. In no time they were both occupied with other things—his hand digging through the pocket of his mac, and hers smoothing out her shirt.

He pulled out a mobile and squinted at it at arm’s length.  His expression darkened.

“Thanks for the, ehm,” he gestured around. “See you.”

“Yeah.”

She watched as he pushed the door open, mobile wedged between his ear and shoulder.

The rest of the evening, she fussed with the books on the display tables and dusted shelves in the back areas of the shop that received less traffic. There were several more customers, but nothing other than Mr. Hardy’s brief visit had successfully distracted her from the sick feeling in her stomach.

It had been two days since Harry asked her to move in with him. Two days since she told him it was over, and two days since he’d threatened to reveal via a fucking  _ tweet _ that she’d gone as  _ Belle _ to sex parties. But he was all talk. Always had been, especially with the other women he chatted up on a routine basis.

His anger was as fleeting as his loyalty, at least. After their row, he’d kissed her hand and admitted that he had to pop out for a one-off, leaving her to a bottle of chardonnay and a box of ice cream for the rest of the evening.

Hannah wiped tears with her wrist at the memory, hating herself for letting him get to her. It was good that things had ended between them, but it still hurt to hear his voice slither over her mind every time things got quiet.  

_ Hannah isn’t real—she’s the façade. She’s this good girl who goes to uni and works at a bookshop. Who the fuck is that? It’s not you. You see? You don’t even flinch. It’s still in you, and I’m the one who can bring it out. You deserve someone like me, Belle. You need someone who can get under your skin, make you feel alive. You need this, but you won’t take it. Get some fucking perspective, Belle. You’ll never make just any old bloke happy. You’ll get bored and want more, you’ll want me, and I’ll be waiting. _

She shuddered, and began preparing the shop for the owner’s shift in the morning.

After a few minutes, the bell over the door chimed when she was in the back room.  _ Oh for fuck’s sake _ . Always when she was about to turn out the lights.

Bambi bounced into the shop, to her utter delight, bangles jingling and face glowing with her smile. Hannah’s chest lightened at the sight of her.

“Thank god you’re here,” Hannah said, hugging Bambi over the counter.

“Oh, I’ll never miss a chance to take my girl out. I turned your sign ‘round. Let’s get the hell outta here.”

 

///

 

_ A week later. _

Hardy stared up at the old wooden sign hanging over the bar’s double red doors. He’d never been one to go for a drink alone, yet this place looked inviting enough. However, across the street was a bakery with a tea room, a bit more his speed at this hour. The old woman there made Scottish treats he remembered fondly from boyhood. Not as good as his Gran’s, but nothing could be. He stood there pondering which to indulge, when the red door of the bar opened.

Out walked Hannah in skinny jeans and a loose black shirt, the back of which was a panel of cream-coloured lace. His eyes lingered on her back as she bid goodbye to whomever she knew inside. Then she turned, and they made eye contact instantly. He broke into a sweat when her smile slipped and her brow lowered.

“Okay, nothing’s this coincidental,” she said, an unlit cigarette in her hand.

He glanced through the bar’s dark windows, suddenly dying of thirst. “I was going across the street.”

“Mmm.”

“I swear on my life I’m not stalking you.”

A smile wormed its way back to her lips. “Maybe I’m stalking you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

She stroked her collarbone and tilted her head in thought. “Then it’s destiny.”

His stomach swooped. She was… flirting with him. At least he thought so. He’d been dead wrong before. Maybe she was just being nice, making light of an awkward situation.  _ Aye, that’s far more likely. _

“I live up there,” he gestured with a tilt of his head to the building of flats across the street. “I don’t come here often, but I felt like getting out. It’s a nice afternoon.”

“Ah. My best mate works here—”

“So are you here a lot then?”

“—and I live a few floors up.”

“Oh. We’re, erm—”

“Neighbours!”

“Neighbours,” he repeated stupidly.

She bit her lip as she smiled. “Fancy that.”

He nodded and shifted his stance, letting his eyes wander around at everything but her. A slow swirling sensation began in his chest. He knew what heart palpitations felt like - not bloody like this. It was fondness and fascination, growing in strength the longer she was in his presence.

“Hey, um, I’m Hannah, by the way.” She stuffed the unlit cigarette back into her purse.

“Hannah,” he repeated, finally looking at her. He knew that already, of course, from the café, but he dared not mention it. It already appeared as though he’d been following her around like some desperate fool.

“Are you here with Keegan then?”

“No, god. He’s –yeah, it’s just me. We’re not, uh, together. Not anymore.” She scratched her brow and her gaze dropped to the ground.

Relief bloomed inside of him. He hoped that meant she was safe, or that he hadn’t hurt her. Keegan  _ had _ seemed a bit disgruntled lately.

“D’you wanna, maybe… I mean you were going in for a drink?” she asked.

Hardy looked up at the bar sign overhead. “Erm, I wasn’t—” He blinked. “You mean with you?”

She shielded her eyes from the late afternoon sun. “Well, yeah. Just one, ‘cos I’ve got a seminar later.”

The fluttering feeling in his chest dropped into his stomach and made him take a deep breath. “I don’t think that’s the best idea. Alcohol.”

“Oh.”

“You’re a – a student, and I’m, well.”

“But you’re not  _ my  _ lecturer. Is that still wrong to grab a drink? I thought it happened all the time.”

“I, uhm, I’d have to read the handbook. I’ve not done it before. Er, with a student. Have a drink, that is—I mean, I haven’t done  _ anything  _ with a student.” He added a  _ fuck  _ under his breath. Why was he saying these things? He could see her losing interest before his eyes. “I’d fancy a bit of tablet, actually. Over there’s a bakery, d’you wanna, maybe, have some with me?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Hardy, might cause a scandal. I remember seeing something in the handbook against visiting bakeries with your lecturers.” She affected a look of dismay.

Hardy chuckled, the warm and floaty feeling returning. “I’m called Alec, by the way. Prefer Hardy, but, you don’t have to call me ‘mister.’”

  
“Alec Hardy,” she said, her voice lovelier than the syllables of his name deserved. “After you.”

_to be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! I hope you enjoy. Thank you so much for reading my very last fic. <3

Hannah and Hardy walked together across the street to the bakery, Hardy a couple steps behind. Hannah found a table by the window as Hardy bought them each a cup of tea, and a few squares of tablet to share. He brought over their order, and had to practically fold himself in half to sit on the dainty chair. Hannah hid a smile behind her hand. Hardy’s lanky frame and long limbs were accentuated by the little table, and she tucked away for later the fantasies of pinning his narrow hips between her thighs.

“I’ve not tried it before.” She spooned heaps of sugar into her tea as she eyed the tablet with a coy smile.

“You might want to leave the sugar.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’ll see.” He popped a cube into his mouth.

Hannah bit the square, and her eyes rolled back in her head. “Oh my god. It’s so sweet.”

He watched her intently. “Now you know.”

“I could develop cravings for this.”

“Maybe this was the point in all of our meetings.”

She held her teacup to her mouth with both hands, and giggled as she sipped. Her expression then shifted and pinched. “Oh god! Whoa! I see what you mean. Good thing I love sugar.”

“Do you? I don’t often go for desserts.”

“I go for ‘em a bit too often.”

He smiled, only a little, but it was endearing the way his cheeks lifted and his eyes brightened.

Hannah set her teacup down and looked him over. Again, he wore the drab suit and tie, though the circles under his eyes weren’t as pronounced. Being this close to him enabled her to notice other details, like faint freckles across his cheeks, and, thanks to his loosened tie, the dip where his neck met his shoulder. She hadn’t realised that she’d been leaning closer to him, and blinked when her elbow slipped on the edge of the table. _Save yourself!_

“When you stopped by my table at the café… you asked if I was all right. Why?”

He shifted in his seat and tugged at his earlobe. “I, ehm, know Harry to be a bit of a prat. I saw you getting upset when someone phoned you, so…”

“Yeah, it was him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What about you? Are _you_  all right?”

His face darkened. “Why d’you think I’m not?”

“Little things.”

A dimple formed in his cheek, and she could sense the walls going up around him. _Shit._

She bit her lip, and looked to the floor. Not everyone liked that she could read them, and clearly Hardy was one of those. Yet he had been equally curious of her, and she had a mind to defend herself when he finally spoke up.

“I’m better now, thanks.”

Hardy began to fidget with his teacup, and they both fell silent for a beat. The remainder of the tablet went uneaten between them. He didn’t want to talk about it, so she didn’t press. Finally he spoke up.

“Are you, ehm, doing anything tonight?”

Her heart skipped a beat, but then she deflated, slouching in her seat. “Um, I have that seminar. A bloody long one.”

“Ah. I have a lecture. It’s -ehm- normal length.”

She grinned. “Then why did you ask?”

“Just trying to make conversation.”

“Ah. Well would you wanna walk to campus—”

He sat forward. “Yes.”

“—with me?” Hannah laughed. “Blimey, what if I was gonna say ‘in women’s lingerie?’”

He smiled a little. “I don’t think it would suit me. Besides, I don’t own any.”

“You’d be surprised,” she said, giving him a sultry grin. His response told her many things. He could take a joke. He could be playful. He wasn’t a bigot. He had a nice smile. “Anyway, I have to clean ‘cos my sister’s coming to visit tomorrow, but I could meet you down here after? Around five?”

“Uh, yes. I’ll be in my regular clothes.” He swept his hand over his tie for emphasis.

She laughed. “If you must.”

They cleaned up their table, and parted ways at the door. Hannah looked up as a breeze whipped through the lace on the back of her shirt. Clouds had settled over the area whilst they were inside, threatening to ruin their plans with an arbitrary downpour. Figured. She stood outside of the bakery and lit a cigarette as she watched him disappear into the entrance to his building a few doors down.

The bakery door opened behind her after a moment, and the little elderly woman poked out her head.

“Excuse me, lass. Yer boyfriend left his wallet.” She held out the wallet in question.

Hannah smiled and took it. “He’s not—uh, yeah, thanks.”

She held the cigarette between two fingers as she turned his wallet over in her hand. She then glanced up at the flat windows; knowing one would be his. After taking a drag from her cigarette, she opened his wallet and sought out something that would have his flat number.

 _321-C_. She finished the fag and popped a bit of gum into her mouth.

The _tap, tap, tap_ of a building rain shower followed her on her way to the buzzer for his flat. She pressed the button, and waited. No answer. She tried again, and still nothing. She glanced skyward to the undulating clouds and frowned. He still didn’t answer. Curious, but there’d be time later, rain be damned. She chucked the wallet into her purse and raced across the street for the shelter of her own building.

///

Hardy heard the buzzer whilst getting into the shower. Not expecting anyone, he opted to ignore it. They were bloody persistent, though.

The cold water shocked his skin, alleviating the arousal that had overtaken him. He felt so wrong for it, but his imagination had become consumed by thoughts of creamy lace against her skin. It was just a bloody shirt. He wasn’t sixteen. He could ignore a piece of cloth on a woman’s back. _But she was not just any woman._

The other detail that deterred his ability to forget was her bra. Or lack thereof. When she’d moved in front of him as they crossed the street, he could see that she wasn’t wearing one. A most unfortunate observation, because from that moment on he became fixated on her breasts. When she sat across from him at the bakery, he did everything he could to avoid discovering all that he could possibly learn about them. Given they were shrouded in thin black material, it was not a whole lot. They were small, but still full and - _For god’s sake get a grip._

He groaned and twisted the knob to make the water colder, which only succeeded to make him stand far from the spray to avoid it. He looked up at the ceiling as he scrubbed his chest with soap. His first memory of her played out- her face relaxed in bliss. He wished he could remember the pleasured sounds she’d been making. If only he hadn’t been so annoyed.

Then he recalled how she ate the tablet, how her eyes had fluttered shut and how she’d licked her lips. He desperately wanted to invoke such a reaction in her. He rolled his eyes. What a bloody ridiculous idea. He couldn’t. _Shouldn’t_.

When all else failed, he twisted the knob to make the water warmer, and then gave in. The hot water against his back eased the tension in his muscles. Made it easier to let go, to gather the sensory details he needed to imagine her voice, her scent, her touch. He reached full hardness in no time, and took himself in hand to relieve the overwhelming heat building in his groin. Just a few strokes is all it took. He came imagining the feel of her breasts against his chest. It really had been too long.

After his shower, he dressed and sat in his reading chair to watch the rain. Or, to ride out the bloody shame cycle, more like. It was ridiculous to feel guilty about a private wank, but he just knew that if there truly was a god, that god was currently pissing all over this plan for a walk with Hannah.

Phantom cat-like movement by his bedroom drew his attention. He frowned at his mind playing tricks on him. Daisy wasn’t there, of course, but ever since Tess had taken the green-eyed tabby, he kept catching glimpses of a tail swishing, or her lithe little form darting past a doorway. Daisy liked to join him at the window sometimes as he read. She’d jump up on the window ledge and arch up toward his hand, purring.

Studies had shown that pets help alleviate depression. Maybe he could get another one. Did Hannah like cats?

His shoulders relaxed. That thought made him feel...something he hadn’t felt in a while. _Hope_. It didn’t surge or take him over, mind. He wasn’t about to rush outside and dance defiantly in the falling rain. No, it was softer. It crept. Nestled. It curled up on his chest, radiating a bit of warmth to dispel the irritation and despair if only for a moment.

Spurred by this rare emotion, he went to his computer and navigated to the university website. The chief super had suggested he seek out a doctoral programme back when. He’d half-heartedly looked into it, but it hadn’t appealed to him. Nothing had. But now it was--it was something. Something else. Something new. Bonus if it could get him out of lecturing in the end. He might be able to influence policy, or re-enter the force as a case analyst or superintendent. He could stop feeling like a miserable sod, in essence.

What would Hannah think of it? Perhaps it wouldn’t matter to her, but at least they’d both be students, and it might ease the presumed _imbalance of power_ (as per the university handbook) between them. They could study together. Go on more walks to campus. He imagined her across from him at the cafe, their knees touching and hands clasped on the table as they reviewed their respective material for exams. He’d been too studious and determined to finish his first run through university so he could join the force. Too reserved to attract any attention from women like Hannah.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and almost laughed at how absurd his thoughts had turned. They weren’t even together. But, it was nice to feel the shifting in his chest. His broken heart healing over with possibility as the anesthetic.

He spent the remainder of his time before lecture researching the requirements and making the necessary correspondence to set things into motion. After sending the final email query, he sat back in his chair and rubbed his brow. His heart raced, giving him a brief, free-fall sensation. He’d taken his medication already. This was ordinary, run-of-the-mill anticipation. It was nice to have a concrete reason tied to these sensations for a change.

Before the weight of what he’d done began to settle, the alarm went off on his mobile. He grabbed his keys, shouldered his flapover briefcase, and--where was his wallet?

He patted down the clothes he’d worn earlier. Nothing. A further fruitless search of his flat led him to realize that he must have left it at the bakery. He glanced in the mirror and frowned as he ran a hand through his fringe, then headed downstairs.

///

Hannah wiped down her counters, and put wine glasses away that had been drying. She dried her hands on a towel and glanced at the clock. _Shit--fifteen minutes_! She hated being late. For as lazy as she was, she really prided herself on her punctuality. But would he think she seemed desperate if she went down a bit early to wait for him? He’d definitely find her irresponsible if she showed up late. Early it was! She had his wallet after all, and she wanted to intercept him before he went to the bakery to ask after it.

She sucked down a cigarette on her balcony to calm her nerves, and then headed inside to freshen up. Turning to the side before her floor-length mirror, she straightened, and arched her back to push out her chest. _Oh shit_ , she forgot she hadn’t worn a bra today. A wry little smile crossed her lips as she slid her hand over her chest. She hoped he had noticed, and if not, now she’d be looking to see if he would.

She tilted her head, inspecting her makeup. Blimey, she had a spot! Why hadn’t anyone warned her that she’d go on to have them into her twenties? He’d notice that for certain, so she hastily applied a bit more foundation. And lip gloss. And tousled her hair. There, sultry yet sweet.

But this wasn’t a date! She felt so daft she wanted to crawl under a breezeblock. Though there were signs of attraction between them, he’d made it crystal clear that students were not on his to-do list. Noble, perhaps, but how she’d love to remind him that they were both adults.

After popping in a mint, she headed downstairs to meet him. To her delight, the rain had stopped. Sunlight sparkled off the fresh rainwater that coated every surface. He emerged from his building at the same time as herself, and they made eye contact across the busy street. She waved, and hurried her way across to him when the traffic came to a stop at the crossroads. They met under the awning in front of the bakery.

He smiled as she drew near. “You brought out the sun.”

Her stomach flipped and she ducked her head, then preened a bit to hide her blush. “I have that effect.” She looked him over then. He’d changed his clothes and washed his hair. Interesting. Either he had needed a cold shower, or he’d been just as eager to make a good impression.

His brow lifted suspiciously the longer she just stood there smiling, and she schooled her features.

“Um. I usually just walk to the train and ride to the campus station, but we might have time to walk the whole way, do you reckon?”

“Ehm, give me a bit, I need to--” He turned towards the bakery.

“Oh, wait!”

She dug around in her purse and offered him his wallet. He stared at the wallet in her hand, before taking it slowly and stuffing it into his back pocket.

“You left it,” she nodded towards the bakery. “The woman there gave it to me. I tried to buzz you, but--”

“Oh, that was you.”

“Yeah. Sorry, I had a peek for your flat number, but that was it.”

“Thank you.”

“Welcome.” She adjusted the bookbag over her shoulder.

“Let’s, ehm…” he gestured in the direction of their journey.

They started out on their walk towards campus side-by-side. A loud lorry trundled through the area, keeping them both quiet until it had passed.

“Thank you for the company,” he said.

“Oh, sure. Anytime, I mean, uhm… surprised I haven’t noticed you before. D’you usually take the train? Maybe you’ve seen me, I dunno.”

“I walk or take the bus if it rains. I hate the train, to be honest. Hate the bus also to be honest, but I’ve not seen you,” He paused, and nearly scowled as he added, “I’d remember if I had.”

She wondered why he looked so angry about it, but then noticed the slight pink tinge to his cheeks. She averted her eyes and tried to hide a smile of her own.

“What will you do when you finish uni?” he asked.

“I dunno. Nothing that involves an office desk, unless I’m in my knickers.”

He stumbled slightly. “Is that a joke?” he asked upon recovering.

 _Would you like to find out?_ The words were on her lips. They burnt her tongue; but she didn’t want to spoil things. They had an entire forty-minute walk left.

“I’m not joking that I would hate to work in an office. Or as a lecturer.”

He sneered a little and glared straight ahead. “I know the feeling.”

“Yeah? How come?”

“Er… this wasn’t my first choice. Lecturing.”

Hannah nodded, but didn’t want to pry. At least not yet. Unravelling a man’s mysteries was part of what turned her on. She wanted to slowly peel back his layers, savouring every uncovered detail. His vulnerabilities, wants, and desires would be safe in her capable hands, but he had to divulge them willingly. _Okay, maybe just one more little question._

“What was?”

He took in a breath, and his jaw tightened. They walked an entire length of a building lined with flower shops and boutiques before he responded.

“I used to be a police officer.”

“Ooh, a copper.” She smiled, delighted that she hadn’t expected that. A deep dimple formed in his jaw. Her smile faltered as he kept his gaze forward.

“Wanted to be a detective inspector. Sort of a life-long dream of mine. I remember after we’d respond to a call, the detectives would come to the scene to investigate. I knew that’s what I was meant to do. Then one day whilst chasing a suspect, I blacked out. Suffered a mild heart attack and hit my head on a bin in the alley. He ended up getting away because of it."

“Oh, no.”

“They put me on leave till I had a full medical evaluation, which revealed I have a congenital arrhythmia. No high stress situations whilst under rehabilitation. Or possibly ever. In the end, they helped me find a job working at the university, but... Just a stress of another bloody sort.”

Hannah’s chest tightened at his story. He must blame himself. She wanted to link her arm through his, and just _show_ him that she sympathised, because she was far better at that sort of sympathy. Her silence must have indicated something else to him, for he stopped abruptly.

“I’m sorry. I don’t--I said too much. I don’t talk to anyone about this.”

Hannah reached out involuntarily, but paused and adjusted her heavy book bag instead. “No, don’t be sorry. I--you can talk to me. It’s okay. Does it help to talk? You don’t have to of course.”

He stared over her shoulder, eyes dark and chest heaving. He seemed properly furious at himself for divulging so much information, but she tended to attract such confessions. She took a step closer, and his eyes shifted to meet hers at last.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she said. “I’ll tell you something equally private about me. How’s that?”

His eyes softened. “You don’t have to.”

“A rain check then.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “All right.”

They resumed walking, and the sun slid behind a new crop of clouds. Everything became ensconced in dappled shadows as if to match the heavy emotion that settled between them.

Tourists crowded the pavement ahead near a small, medieval church that guarded the corner. Hannah recalled snogging a secondary school boyfriend in the cloisters, and having to hide when tourists unexpectedly broke off from the group to explore.  She imagined grasping Hardy’s hand and tugging him into the transept. Not because it was a church. She had nothing against God, and as yet no religious kinks. But because it was old; locked in time, and gave her a similar feeling of otherworldly displacement that she normally found in novels.

She wanted to stop time for them and step between the ages. She wanted to fall to her knees, make him come, the sound of it echoing from the vault. Blimey, she had it bad.

They worked their way around the tourists, and turned off to a sprawling park. Hannah reined in her wayward thoughts as she noted his forlorn expression.

“You live alone?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Yes. Now, anyway.” He took a deep breath. “I was engaged…”

They were passed by a swarm of cyclists, and Hannah waited for him to continue once they’d gone, but he just fell silent. After a comfortable amount of time had passed, she changed the subject to why she’d chosen English Literature.

_I like reading. I like writing. I like analysing. I hate maths. Didn’t really know what I wanted to do with my life, and I hate working so… Sounded like the perfect thing._

He teased her for it, called her a well-learnt skiver, and she bumped against him playfully. From that moment on, they kept it light. Asked after each other’s origins. He’d grown up outside of Glasgow, and moved to this area just outside of London for university. She’d lived here all her life, and was a great disappointment to her parents when she wanted to go to this smaller uni, as opposed to a more prestigious one in London proper.

He spent a good five minutes creatively disparaging her love of marmite, which she allowed because he clearly fancied making her laugh.

Although Hardy remained less forthcoming than herself, she learnt just as much from the lightness in his posture, and the softness in his eyes. There was colour in his cheeks nearly the rest of the way, and he definitely laughed more than once.

At last they arrived at the steps to Hannah’s college, where they stopped under an ancient tree and gave each other an awkward smile.

“Do you maybe want to do something after?” Hannah asked.

He opened his mouth to respond, but shut it and his eyes snapped to a spot over her shoulder. She glanced back to see Harry talking to Bambi a distance away. Hardy and Hannah hadn’t been seen, but that was the end of Hannah’s good mood. Harry appeared to be begging Bambi for something that she wasn’t keen on telling him. She gestured for him to get lost, and her voice was carried across the distance.

_“Now, piss off!”_

Harry stormed away at that, mercifully in the opposite direction.

When Hannah looked back, Hardy had taken a large step away from her, his expression darkened.

“I have to go,” he said, and shuffled nervously. “It was…”

“Babes!” Bambi said in the least inconspicuous stage whisper on record.

Hannah shot her a glare and put her finger to her lips. She cringed, looking back to Hardy. She wanted desperately to give him her number. _Fuck!_ Why hadn’t she already? But she knew he wouldn’t want her to in front of Bambi, who was currently clomping down the brick stairs towards them in her heels.

“I’ll be in my office after,” Hardy ground out.

“Okay, yeah. See you.”

He turned and hurried off without an inch of hesitation.

Hannah groaned as she watched him walk away, head leaning into his stride like he couldn’t get away fast enough. Not even his cute bum could improve her sharply soured mood.

“Who was that? You chatting someone up already? I knew you’d be okay, see, babes?” Bambi grinned. “So tell me! He’s tall; you like tall.”

Hannah shot Bambi a perturbed glare. “Let’s go. We’ll be late.” They began ascending the steps to the building. “He’s a lecturer here. Lives in the flats across from mine so I see him in passing sometimes.”

“Ooh, a lecturer! Just your type.”

“He’s _Harry’s_ lecturer.”

“God. Fuck Harry.”

“What’d he want anyway?” Hannah asked.

“Just wanted to know if you’ve been pining after him or some shit. He’s got some fucking nerve. I told him you haven’t said nothin’ about him.”

“Thanks.” Hannah smiled at her friend.

“That would fuck him up so bad though, to know you’re shaggin’ his lecturer. He deserves it.”

“Bambi, Jesus. We’re not--” she lowered her voice. “We’re not shagging.”

“Maybe not yet. I saw you.”

Hannah grinned a little, and glanced in the direction Hardy had gone before they ducked into the building. Her stomach sank, recalling how quickly he’d wanted to get away.

“I dunno. He’s...  It’s not a revenge thing. Anyway, maybe it’s too soon. Should put some time between them. Don’t want to make Harry give him any trouble.” She sighed. “On second thought, maybe I should just leave it.”

“Oh, Han, you know that stuff about rebounds is all a bunch of bollocks, yeah? You wanna feel better and he’d make you feel better, so go for it.”  Bambi shrugged, then added. “Or you could just be friends.”

“Hello, d’you remember Ben? I can’t _just_ be friends, apparently.”

Bambi laughed. “It’s not like you to hesitate when you want someone. What if he’s, you know. _The_ one.”

Hannah scoffed. “Not all of us have a Byron.”

Hannah left it at that, and Bambi was more than happy to take it from there at the mention of her boyfriend. Hannah barely heard a word of it, though, her mind consumed with thoughts of Hardy. She sat through the seminar completely unable to pay attention. Energized yet distracted. Her leg bounced, she constantly checked her mobile. God, she needed to see him again. The same man who’d given her such a terrible first impression was now the touchstone of her every thought. Bambi was right. Hardy had mentioned he’d be in his office, and if that wasn’t an invitation for her to stop by then she didn’t know what was.

///

Hardy sat at his office desk after finishing up with his lecture, a half-eaten tomato sandwich nearby. Rain thrummed steadily against the window pane, and though the sound of it relaxed him, helped him focus, it would likely be the reason why he wouldn’t see Hannah again tonight.

A student had come by to ask questions about an assignment. A fellow lecturer popped in to discuss something _hilarious_ that had happened to them. (Really, he worked hard to affect an air of ‘I don’t give a shit about this’ attitude, but they weren’t the most observant lot). Every time someone knocked at his door, he hoped it would be her, but it wasn’t. He could’ve left some time ago, but despite the weather, he held out. Just in case. A half hour ticked by. And another. More students. No Hannah.

It was because of the rain. Had to be. She’d want to come otherwise, wouldn’t she?

He rubbed his eyes under his glasses with a heavy sigh. One last essay waited to be reviewed before him, and then he’d head home. As he reached halfway through the essay, there came a knock at his door.

“It’s open,” he said, because it was. Partially. He ran his fingertip along the text as he continued to read.

“Hi.”

He looked up at the sound of Hannah’s voice. She stood there in the narrow opening of his doorway, hair damp and shirt blotted wet from fat drops of rain. Their eyes locked, and neither of them spoke for a potent moment.

“Hoped I wasn’t too late,” she said, a little breathy. “It’s a bit farther than I thought.”

“No, you’re fine, but I didn’t expect you to walk in this. Sorry if I made you think… Didn’t mean to-”

“I wanted to see you. Hope it’s not weird… I found you on the directory.” She rubbed her arms with her hands to warm them.

She’d _wanted_ to see him. The warmth in her eyes made him sag in his chair. Gooseflesh had risen on her forearms from the chill of drying rain. Her shirt clung to her chest, and he quickly averted his eyes as he noticed further evidence of her current chilled state.

“N-no, it’s, it’s fine. How else would you know?” He cleared his throat. “You look, uh…Want a coat?”

“Sure, thanks.”

He offered her his mac jacket from the back of his chair, and she wrapped it over her shoulders.  “Ta.” She tilted her face towards the collar. Her eyes closed briefly.

He shuffled essays around on his desk to give himself something to do other than stare at her.

“Sorry about earlier,” she murmured. “He wasn’t in your class, was he?”

“No. I think he has Miller tonight.”

“Good.”

“Maybe not for Miller.” Hardy stood and began packing up his flapover briefcase. “He doesn’t, um.. bother you, does he?”

“No. Not anymore. He wasn’t even trying to get in touch with me. Just wanted to know if I pine after him or something.”

He definitely couldn’t blame the lad for that, but to badger Hannah’s friend was crossing a line. He stood and pulled the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder, and walked around his desk to join her.

“How are you planning on getting home?”

“The bus, since you hate the train.” She bit her lip.

So dazzled by the look in her eyes, he almost missed her implication. “I won’t mind if you’re there.”

She studied him with a sort of Mona Lisa smile that made his stomach do a somersault. They were close, so close he could feel her body heat and smell the faint, sweet fragrance of her hair. Seeing her wrapped in his coat sent his brain all kinds of messages that he had a rather difficult time parsing. It satisfied his protective streak, it stoked his desire, even stirred a hint of possessiveness. Warmth began to gather in his abdomen, pooling lower the longer she stared at him like that.

Hannah leant forward, her eyes focused on his mouth. “What about after?”

His heart began to pound in earnest. Her pupils widened as her gaze shifted to his unbuttoned collar, and his lack of a tie. Still, he didn’t move, and she only drifted closer.

“A-after?”

He nearly stopped breathing as she placed her hand ever so lightly over his chest.

“Yeah. Would you mind if I--”

The door swung open. A professor popped her head in. Professor Jenkinson. “Hardy, I’m heading out. You and...”

Hardy practically lept ten feet backward. Of course it would be the bloody head of the department. She glanced at Hannah with a raised eyebrow, and back to Hardy.

“Uh… you and Professor Morgan are the only ones left,” said Jenkinson. Her eyes had narrowed in suspicion, but she took her thoughts with her as she left.

Hardy breathed with relief, and then froze as he glanced back to Hannah. _Shite, she was wearing his mac!_ He felt unequivocally busted. What had Professor Jenkinson thought? For all he knew, she was still standing outside out of sight, listening out for more evidence that Hardy was some sort of creep. Now flushed with guilt and fear - he could lose his job. He couldn’t lose _another_ job! - he scrambled for the words to make this scene appear very far from what it had been.

“Thanks for the, ehm--” No, that made it sound worse. _Fuck._ Though only a few seconds had passed, it felt like an eternity.

Hannah seemed to pick up on his panic. She grabbed a pen from his desk and clicked it noisily. “Oh, no problem. The pharmacy across the street has pens, you know.”

“Yes. They do. I’ll, uh, get some. Pens always disappearing from my desk…” There was a reason he never had been interested in drama club.

Hannah smiled a little. “Thanks for believing me, Mr. Hardy. I know you’re his lecturer.” She then took out a slip of paper from her purse and wrote something on it. She handed it to Hardy when she was done.

“He, ehm, won’t bother you again if I can help it.” He took it, and glanced down at it. Her mobile number. This was… this was really happening to him.

“Could you please walk me to the train station? I’m not comfortable walking out at night knowing he’s around.”

“Yes. I will walk you to the train station, and then I will take a bus to an entirely different area of town which is where I live.” God, was he rubbish at this.

Hannah looked down, trying hard to remain serious though he could tell a laugh was just dying to erupt.

“Thank you, sir. You’re so kind and helpful,” she declared.

Hardy made a face and whispered. “You’re buggering it.”

“Let’s go,” she whispered back with a grin.

He cut the light as they left his office. Jenkinson was nowhere in sight.

They walked to the nearby train station, thankful that the rain had tapered off to a light drizzle. Awnings and branches bursting with lush spring leaves kept them relatively dry. They spoke little. They kept just enough distance to accidentally brush hands now and again. Every time it awakened the butterflies in his stomach. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. It was good, and he had little room in his mind for worries about how fleeting it might be.

As they waited for the train, Hannah leant towards him. “I’m twenty-three, by the way.”

He glanced down at her. “Thirty-four.”

“Not an issue for me.”

He hesitated. It wasn’t the age so much, although he tended to prefer women closer to his own. And he’d have certainly run for the hills if she’d been under twenty. It was more-- “A thirty-four year old lecturer.”

“Not an issue either.” Though she seemed less certain, the way her voice trailed off.

“It’s a professional issue.”

She folded her arms, and looked away towards the tunnel where the train would emerge. “We’re both adults.”

He sighed, and surveyed the people standing all around them with mounting discomfort. “Can we not do this here?”

“Gonna be one hell of a long train ride then.”

“For god’s sake,” he said under his breath.

She turned to him. “No. Let’s settle it. None of these people give a shit about us. Half of them are staring at their bloody iPhones anyway, and it’s noisy. So,” she took a deep breath, “I like you. A lot, and I’m not stupid. I know you’ve got to be careful, but it’s not the end of the world and it certainly isn’t the first time this has happened. I can be discreet.”

He gave her a pointed look. “I haven’t forgotten how I met you.”

She scowled, but it morphed into an angry sort of (adorable) smirk and she thwapped him playfully on the arm. “Shut up. That was different.”

“There’s something…” he began, but was cut off by squealing brakes and the echoing groan of the train pulling up to the station. They boarded, and had to stand the crowd of students and suits. They were unable to talk until they arrived at their destination, and exited the station.

“You were saying?” she prompted as they resumed their walk towards their flats.

“Ehm, well…” he cleared his throat. “I’m applying to take courses in the fall for a doctorate. So… Technically that’ll make me a student as well.”

She furrowed her brow. “Okay...that’s great. Did you want to hold off till then?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

He opened his mouth to launch into an explanation, but his mind was a jumble of excuses that no longer made much sense. Arguments that no longer held their ground in the wake of her confession. They reached the entrance to her building, and stopped in the foyer just inside. It provided a modicum of privacy, for which Hardy was grateful.

“I suppose there isn’t one,” he said at last.

“Unless you just don’t fancy me.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. “I can barely tolerate your presence.”

“Then I guess I won’t invite you up for takeaway and a bad film.”

“Good. That sounds like a bloody awful date.”

She laughed. “Hey, you took me to a bakery for our first date. There’s no room to talk.”

He stopped, shoes scuffing on the carpet. “Was that--I didn’t… I mean, was it enjoyable?”

She moved in front of him so the tips of their shoes touched, and looked up. “It was lovely.”

“It was daft.”

“No! I’m serious. It was sweet.”

“In that case, dating is a lot easier if I don’t realise I’m doing it.”

Hannah laughed, and he felt such a swell of affection for her that he sighed. Her laughter trailed off, and she fixed those dark, smiling eyes on his.

“I had a nice time with you today,” she said, her voice softening.

“Me too. Erm, with you.”

“It’s probably too late for takeaway,” she said.

He nodded, checking the clock on the wall nearby. “The kind I could eat, anyway. I’ve got to be up early, so, maybe another time.”

“A kiss goodnight, then?” She put her hand over his heart, hooked her thumb under his shirt button, which inadvertently (or perhaps intentionally) resulted in the lightest of caresses over his skin.

“Yeah,” he said on an exhale.

Her grip on his shirt tightened as she lifted up on her toes. He bowed his head to meet her lips, eyes drifting shut. She pressed harder, and he yielded, capturing her top lip between his. Their belongings got in the way of a proper embrace. His mac, which she’d given him on the train, had ended up wedged between them with his attempt to rest his hand upon her cheek. He wanted to pull her closer, wrap her in his arms and just feel the pressure of another body against his. A reminder that he’s not alone in this god forsaken world. But her lips would have to do for now. They were soft, minty, and she smelt a bit like rain, but he didn’t care.

Just when he began to feel dizzy, like the world had fallen away to leave them floating, she slowly pulled back. His ribs could barely contain his wildly beating heart, and his lips tingled for more. He flexed his fingers as he struggled to regain his senses.

“Goodnight,” she said, her eyes dark and her cheeks flushed.

He stared after her, utterly bewitched, as she used her key card to get into the building proper. Once she disappeared beyond the door, he finally snapped his mouth shut and willed his feet to walk home.

///

Hannah dropped her belongings on the sofa, and headed for her room. The kiss had left her head spinning, her body flushed with heat, and she kept touching her lips to rekindle the pleasant sensation. Once in her room, she peeled off her clothes and took a shower to wash away the dried rain and sweat. She had just stepped out and toweled her hair dry, when her mobile’s text alert chimed from the bedroom.

 _Oh, god, please don’t be Jackie._ Her sister had a bad habit of showing up unannounced or off-schedule. She could see the text now-- _Hi, I’m downstairs. Popped by a bit early so I wouldn’t miss Lorraine in the morning._ It was always a horribly contrived excuse. Hannah knew Jackie just wanted to get away from her husband.

It nearly killed her libido, till she noticed the text was from a number she didn’t have stored in her contacts. Her stomach dropped in anticipation as she read the text.

_It’s Hardy. I made a huge mistake_

Hannah bit her grin and replied. _realise you like me after all?_

Oh wait. Her heart became a of knots. What if he meant the kiss was a mistake? Now her tone felt too forward, and she wanted to die from how long it took him to reply. At last, her mobile chimed.

_More than. May I come up?_

“Yes!” Her fingers slid over the touchscreen. _yes! Flat 204_

She quickly slipped on clean knickers, and searched her closet for something else to wear, but none of it would work. The buzzer rang. _Shit!_ She dashed to the panel by her door and let him up, then hurried back to the room to continue her search for a suitable clothes.

Everything was either too sexy or too tame. What would he expect? She blew the fringe from her face as she held up a black lace teddy with pink ribbons along the bodice. No, that won’t do. He had a heart condition. Couldn’t have him pass out the moment she opens the door. Oh, fuck, could they do anything at all? A plain cotton t-shirt ended up in her hands when she heard him knocking. Groaning, she slid on the flimsy garment, and rushed out to answer the door.

“Hello! Come in.”

His eyes roamed over her, but he didn’t budge. She smiled and motioned for him to enter, and at last he drifted in as if carried by a gentle breeze. She closed the door behind him.

“You’re not wearing, ehm…” he said, gazing at her legs.

“Yeah, didn’t have time.”

She swayed close to give him a peck at the corner of his lips. It was meant to be a quick tension-breaker, but his hands instantly grabbed her waist to hold her there. Their eyes locked briefly. Heat flared over her skin at the potent desire held in his gaze. He tilted his head, and she moved in and crushed her lips against his. As she focused on the rhythm of their kiss, her body fell into his embrace. He groaned and turned so that she was caught between him and the wall.

“Can we--” he shuddered when she arched and parted her legs for him to nestle between them. “Do you want…”

“ _Yes,_ ” she urged, fingernails gliding across his scalp as his mouth moved along her jaw.

He dragged his hand down, and the heat of his palm on her thigh sent a flash of warmth between her legs. She worked the buttons of his shirt, and found a grey vest shirt beneath. She tugged it from his waistband, the action making him rock against her. He was hard already, straining in the confines of his trousers.

He gripped her leg, coaxing her to wrap it around his waist. As she made the attempt, he fumbled with her other leg, seeming unsure how to proceed.

“How--”

“Hang on,” she said, and tilted her hips as she bent her leg around his waist. He groaned as she swiveled a little against the bulge in his trousers. “Like that?”

He responded by kissing her, tongue sliding past her lips to chase after hers. She grinned into the kiss, and thrust her hips to feel the friction of his erection against her clit, but they weren’t positioned well enough to get a satisfactory rhythm going. He tried to let go of her leg to slip his hand under her shirt, but it resulted in having her awkwardly pinned with his leg bent uncomfortably.

“God dammit,” he growled.

Hannah giggled. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not. I feel like an idiot.”

She settled both feet back on the floor. He seemed to have lost his momentum, and wouldn’t look her in the eye. She took his hands and set them on her waist under her shirt.

“Keep touching me.”

His jaw tightened, and he dragged his hands up her ribs. Long fingers splaying over her heated skin.

“Yes,” she whispered, biting her lip. “Go on.”

Emboldened, he moved his hands higher until his palms covered her breasts. She felt his cock twitch against her abdomen, even through his trousers. He rested his forehead to hers, thumbs swiping over her nipples. It sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her clit. Her lip trembled, as he kept on, her hips moving in search of stimulation.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. He rolled her nipples between his fingers, driving her mad. It was as though he’d been thinking of doing it all day and finally got his chance, so he wasn’t keen on stopping any time soon.

She moaned in encouragement, and let him bond with her breasts for a few moments before she tilted his face up with a finger under his chin.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” she said.

He hesitated, brow furrowing. “But, don’t you like this?”

She cradled his face in her palms. His beard felt soft and slightly wiry, and she wanted to feel it brush against her thighs.

“Yes, but not only this.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve taken my meds. Don’t worry I’m not gonna have a heart attack.”

“I wasn’t worried.” She looked up.

He squeezed her breasts playfully. “Yes you were.”

She laughed. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“My doctor gave me the all-clear.” He then smiled. “I rang him on the way over.”

For someone she thought rather grumpy at first, he sure knew how to make her laugh. She wrapped her arms over his shoulders and smiled as their noses bumped.

“Joking aside, if you feel like you need to stop, it’s okay. Got it?”

He grumbled. “Yeah.”

“I’m serious.”

He sighed. “Thank you. I… haven’t done this in a while. At first I was under medical restriction, and then I found myself unexpectedly single, so.”

She slid a hand down to cup his bulge. His eyes fluttered shut and he sagged against her.

“Haven’t even wanked?”

“Er...well.”

She giggled, and kissed his temple. “Come with me.”

///

Hardy let her tug him along, adrift on a sea of hormones as he was. They reached her room at last, clothing discarded save for her knickers and his pants. She settled back on the bed, propped up by her elbows. Meanwhile he just stood there in a stupour, memorizing every detail of her in case this all turned out to be some elaborate dream.

“Want to join me?” She coaxed, touching herself with lazy caresses. When he still didn’t budge, she turned over to her stomach and grinned at him over her shoulder. “Or did you want to teach me a lesson first?”

He stared at her arse for a full thirty seconds before what she said registered. His gaze snapped up to meet hers and he smirked a little. “Stop it.”

Her laughter put him at ease, and he sat on the side of the bed. She moved up to sit by the pillows, and searched for a foil in her nightstand. As she did, he gently rubbed her legs, giving her ankles a squeeze and massaging further up her calf and to her thigh. The closer he came to her knickers, she shifted and settled back, letting her legs fall open.

It was truly a sight to behold: Her body already flushed, her lips kiss-swollen, eyes dark and naked with want. More than that, she was smiling. A warm, affectionate sort of smile that made him weak in the knees. She took his hand and threaded their fingers together.

An errant shyness overcame him then, and he looked away. He couldn’t bloody last with her. It would embarrass them both. She was so soft, and sexy, and kind, and funny, and he was.. Well. Lost. Doubt crept in, spiralled in his stomach and tempered his arousal. Oh that’s just fantastic. So either he’ll go off like a teenager, or he won’t be able to do anything at all.

He felt the bed dip as she moved behind him. “Everything all right?” Her chin came to rest lightly on his shoulder, and she rubbed his bicep reassuringly.

“Eh...”

She kissed along his shoulder to the nape of his neck. His eyes slid shut. But her kisses trailed off, and he felt her move away from him. When he sought her out, she was sitting back near the pillows, her arms wrapped around herself.

“Am I not, I mean... You’re not enjoying--” A worried look entered her eyes.

He scooted towards her, realising he’d been misread.  “What? _No_. I’m enjoying this more than anything. I just had a, ehm… a moment of performance anxiety.”

She bit her nail, her eyes large and beseeching. “Sure?”

He wondered what sort of bollocks Harry had been feeding her to make her ever worry that she’s anything short of miraculous.

“Aye,” he said, reaching out to move a lock of hair from her face. He let his hand linger, stroking the soft strands that lay over her shoulder. “Though I do feel better to know I’m not the only one to worry.”

She smiled, finger still poised at her teeth. “Kiss me,” she said.

He complied at once. Their noses bumped, but they made a swift and satisfying recovery. His chest swelled with emotion, the way she opened up for him and tugged him closer. Their respective underthings vanished to the piles of other discarded clothes littering her floor. After a bit of fumbling with the condom, she guided him to her centre.

This was the part he’d feared. That once enveloped by her warmth, and with his senses singing from the taste and smell of her, that he’d be unable to control an inevitable release. He clenched his teeth and imagined cleaning out his cat’s litter box as he pushed farther inside, her body pulling him in like he was always meant to be there.

His muscles flexed as he held himself still. Eyes firmly closed. He felt her breathing, reassuring him with soft touches. It took him a moment, but he realised that she was also nearly just as gone. Her hands trembled as they slid down his back, and her breath shook on an inhale. He opened his eyes to find her lost in the sensation with brows drawn together and lips parted. It spurred him onward.

With every thrust, she gasped. Her body arched and her hips tilted to match his rhythm. He nearly lost it when she dragged her fingernails over his shoulders, and burrowed his face into her neck.

He shifted his angle, and her moan enticed him to keep on, right there. Just like that.

 _“Yes!”_ Her legs tightened around his hips. He felt her tightening around his cock, warm and wet and sucking him in on every thrust. A groan tore itself from his throat, and he let go without warning.

“ _Hannah,_ ” he groaned, pulsing within her, but he didn’t stop. He ground his pelvis against her, whatever it took. He’d spend the entire night making up for it if he had to. Just before a surge of shame could overtake him, she froze, her body arching. She threw her head back and cried out in pleasure.

It wasn’t until they were fully sated, curled into each other's’ embrace, that he realised how bloody hard his heart was pumping.

///

At four in the morning, Hannah awoke from a deep slumber.

Disorientated, she lifted her head, and found herself still entwined in Hardy’s arms. He slept soundly, and she dared not move to disturb him. He looked so at ease, so satisfied, and she wanted to believe it was because of her.

Tears prickled her eyes, and she gently touched his cheek with her fingertips. He sighed in his sleep, and pulled her closer.


End file.
